


to the old days (to my old ways)

by aislamientos



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Karaoke, Post-Finale, Reader-Insert, honestly i'm just trying to have a good time, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns, some of the other office characters will appear but most will just be in flashbacks, this is just blatantly part-character study and part-absolutely self-indulgent mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislamientos/pseuds/aislamientos
Summary: two years after moving from scranton, andy finds some new good old days.





	1. september 2015: part one

Touching the hair at the nape of your neck, you breathe in your nose, out your mouth. You look at the sleeves of your dress shirt and tug them down over your wrists. Had it shrunk in the washer? You also had forgotten your watch that your mother had bought you as a graduation present, you notice. What else had you forgotten before heading to this meeting? You pat your pockets and sigh in relief; you hadn't forgotten your cell phone, which you then took out and checked the time with. 12:39 pm. Your meeting wasn't until 1 pm, and you had been waiting a good while already.

After getting your usual coffee, you take a seat at one of the tables near the back of the busy café. It was a college town, after all, there was bound to be caffeinated beverages somewhere, and there were bound to be sleep-deprived students and nervous potential guest lecturers in need of them. As you wait for the others to arrive, you pull out your battered leather notebook from your bookbag and observe the coffee shop, trying to dig for new writing material.

The small coffee shop was set up to look like an old classroom, complete with heavy wooden tables and chairs. At the front, a long oak table was serving as both counter and kitchen. Two trays of pastries sit covered by plastic and three separate coffee machines accompany them. The stools are full of chattering folks, ranging from the traditional college-aged to more elderly customers. 

Behind the counter was a young woman in her 20s, probably an undergraduate at the college. "Hi, how can I help you today?" rings out with each new customer. Heavy bags under her eyes were hidden by caked-on foundation in attempts to make them less noticeable. Definitely an undergrad, then, you think. Between you and the front, students and faculty from the nearby university alike filled the chairs in the room, which pleasantly filled the café with warm conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. 

You think back to your own undergrad years, where a casual setting like this would have been filled with irritable students quietly studying for whatever they deemed was important, shushing talking friends in every corner of what was supposed to be a café to hang out at. You grimace; no use being bitter over the past. Still, you think as you drink from the cup of coffee warming your hand, if you got to work in this town, it would definitely be a step up from the women's college you attended almost a decade ago.

While hastily writing all of your observations in your notebook, someone taps your shoulder, making you choke on some of your coffee. You cough unattractively, wheezing as the stranger scrambles to grab some napkins from the dispenser on the table. They hand you some, and you manage to fit a “thank you” somewhere in between coughs. You wipe your eyes from where they’ve watered up, and you sit back in your chair. 

“I’m really sorry about that, I hope you’re okay now. Uh, are you okay?” You look at the man who that lilting voice belonged to. A middle-aged man with styled brunette hair and ridiculously blue eyes stood by your table, ears tinged red from embarrassment at almost causing your untimely death. Great, you thought. Your would-be killer had to be cute. 

“I’m fine, but you shouldn’t just startle people like that, man,” you say, inwardly sighing at how abrasive you unintendedly sounded. The stranger definitely picked up on your annoyance, and his slight look of shame shifted into one of haughtiness. 

“Well, that’s great,” he said with measured words. “I was going to ask if this seat was open, but I think I’m going to sit elsewhere now,” he emphasized his words with a raise of his ridiculously arched eyebrows. Everything about this man seemed less cute and more ridiculous by the second. Was he really going to try to make you feel bad for choking on your coffee, which was his fault?

“Fine, but I wasn’t going to let you sit here, anyway.” You chided yourself in your head for taking his bait, but you pressed on. “I happen to have a very important interview in a bit, and I need this table for my, uh, guests.” He seemed too transparent to hide his curiosity, so kept going. “I’m going to be the new director at the Bastion Theater. Ever heard of it?”

“Uh, ever heard of it? Only anyone who bothers to look at washed-up theater companies has heard of it.”

“So. You do realize you just insulted yourself, right?” His blush went from his ears to the rest of his face, and you smirked. 

“I wasn’t going to sit here with a loser who can’t bother to look up from writing in a notebook AND drinking in a coffee.” His temper was showing, but you had dealt with enough weirdos during your time in Los Angeles that you knew when not to push it anymore. Just enough for it to be entertaining, and maybe a lesson. This guy looked like one of those trust fund babies who wasn’t used to being told “no.”

“Fine.” You struggle to keep your smirk from growing into a taunting smile, and it seemed to have worked as the strange man seemed to calm himself down with calculated breaths. 

“Fine!” And with a huff he was gone. What a ridiculous man. Imagine if he’d walked in during the interview, you thought. He’d probably had kicked the table or something. 

Startled at the thought of your interview, you glanced at the clock in the front of the café. Just as if on cue, your friend’s superiors had just walked into the shop, and you waved them over, the delicious cup of joe in your right hand, which kept dropping beads of hot liquid onto the outside of your hand. You grimaced and fixed your face into a smile. You needed this job.  
***

The interview was going delightfully well when there was an interruption. Your last couple of interviews had ended on sour notes, thanks to your staunch ideals on theatre and unspoken bigotry on behalf of the companies you were interviewing for. The Bastion Theater, despite its setting in an affluent town, had a progressive reputation among your colleagues. You had been hoping this gig would work out, especially as it came out of nowhere and had the potential to keep you financially afloat for a few more months. Hopefully, with your friend's word that you'd be a fantastic replacement while she was abroad, you had this job in the bag. The man who was doing the interrupting, however, seemed to have a different idea.

"Hey, well, what do you know! How is everyone?" 

You stop mid-sentence to look away from your potential new bosses only to find the man from earlier, even smugger than before. He has a beverage carrier with him and gives you a sneaky look before turning to the board of directors. "Beverly, John, Anne, I saw you over here and thought I'd treat you before heading back to the university." He starts passing out the drinks, ignoring you even as he stands right next to you. 

"Uh–" you begin before you get cut off. 

Beverly, your interviewer, a staunch woman in her mid-60s, smiles fondly at the annoying man. "Thank you, Andy, you're very kind." You restrain your irritation as you realize that Mr. I'm-Going-to-Ruin-Your-Interview knows the board much better than you happen to. If you snap at him, you might not get the job, no matter how good your recommendation and references are. 

"How have you been?" asks Anne, a blonde woman in her mid-50s that you had just finished gushing over Brecht with. 

"I've been just great, Mrs, McIntire, and yourself?" he responded smoothly. You begin to freak out; you're the one who was supposed to be doing the smooching yourself. The only way that this interview could get worse was if–

"Andrew," John speaks up for the first time. "How about you join us? You've been a good friend of the Bastion for decades now." You stared down into your coffee cup and thought of dunking your face into it. This could not be happening. 

The man named Andy slides into the seat next to you, and you kind of feel like either punching him or running out of the coffee shop. While you try to hide your frustration, Beverly speaks your name, and continues with, "Andy is one of our longtime donors at the Bastion, and he just got cast in play you're directing! I think you'll both get along famously." She smiles at both of you, and you smile back, hoping it doesn't look too forced. 

Next to you, Andy grins. He has an unusually large smile, you think, feeling blinded by the whiteness of his teeth. Somehow even that manages to annoy you. "I'm sure we will, now, I was talking about my plans for directing the show–"

Beverly waves you off. "You have the job, my dear. I'm sure you'll do great; Rebecca said so." John and Anne enthusiastically agree with her. 

"Wow. Okay." Just like that? "But we haven't even talked what I want to do–"

The older woman waves you off again. "Don't worry about it. We've hired an assistant director for you. Her name's Angelica, and she's directed with us before, so she'll be able to give you some pointers on what we like to see. You've also got folks like Andy here to help you on making your show a Bastion show. The actors and crew all know what the audience wants, and you'll figure it out." Her lips curve upwards, but something hard in her eyes keeps you from arguing with her.

"Oh," you say, feeling a bit silly as your face falls. "I, um, I understand." It had been so long since you had the opportunity to direct a show, used to being an assistant to others. But you couldn't complain now. You got the job. "I look forward to putting on a great show for the Bastion,” you say as you smile shakily. You do a little “let’s get right to it” hand gesture, fist closed and arm making an upward motion, but now reacts. Your smile falters even more, and you see Andy smirk out of the corner of your eye. 

With that, you shake hands with the board, everyone bidding each other good days and "call me if you need anything"s. The excitement of the job was dulled by the stipulations the board had set for you, but your annoyance for Andy had not. He was standing up, coat in hand and scarf around his neck. You breathe in and out slowly, trying not to make a scene. "It was good to meet you," you lie as you pack up your things and pick up your empty coffee cup. The caffeine jitters were starting to settle in. 

"I think," he quirks an eyebrow up as he tilts his head to the side, "you owe me an apology."

"Oh my God," you say a bit too loudly, and you take that as your own cue to swiftly jet out the door, leaving Andy in your wake. As you walk into the brisk air of the early fall, you adjust your messenger bag on your shoulder, only to hear someone calling your name. You turn to Andy catching up to you, face red from exertion. "You are not getting an apology if that's what you ran after me for."

He shakes his head as he catches his breath. "No, no, I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have tried to sabotage your interview–"

"You tried to what–"

"I said I'm sorry! That was the plan, but Beverly scares me, and I–”

"Okay, that's enough. I may not be in control of the show, but I'm still the director. That means I can fire you from the cast." You cross your arms and stand your ground at the older man who was really trying to sabotage your career, Good Lord. 

"I know how to help you." He says, any signs of smugness or arrogance gone from his face. He suddenly looks a whole look older than you first thought, bags heavy under his large eyes, hair starting to be peppered with gray. He looks… vulnerable, and something inside gets hooked on that. “I know how you can get the show the way they,” he points at the coffee shop, “want it without forcing you into a box.” 

You weigh your options. You could either give up and just coast through the next couple of months working on a show you hate, or you could listen to the guy who just almost cost you your job over a rude interaction. You cringed. Or, you thought, you could just run away home, like you always did, and give up once again, just like you did that year you crashed in your parents’ house in a depression. 

“Okay,” you say, face set in a neutral expression, careful not to let anything show. “I’ll hear you out.” 

The goofy smile on his face almost makes you smile, too. “Let’s talk somewhere warm. C’mon, I know a place.”


	2. 2013-2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last two years had sucked, to say the least, for one Andrew Baines Bernard.

“Hey, you’re not picking up, and neither is Dad, so I guess I’ll just leave a message, then. I wanted to drive over to the house before tomorrow, but packing took way longer than I thought it would. The movers are gonna come in tomorrow and take everything over to the house, and I thought it would be a good idea to go with them over to Scranton. You know, to unpack. Which Walter was supposed to help out with. Can you tell him that I’m mad at him? He hasn’t tried to apologize for bailing out, so I thought you could make it clear to him. Well, that’s it. I’ll try to drive home next weekend. See you then. Love you. Bye.”

***

"Mom, I wanted to let you know before you heard from someone else– not that anybody else would know, why would I– Well, uh, I... I kind of... punched a hole in the wall at work today, so... yeah. Do you know if the family lawyer's free right now?"

***

"Mom, pick up. Why is the diamond from the family engagement ring missing?"

***

“Hey, mom, can you ask dad to pick up? He’s not answering my calls, and I really need to know what the ending to a jingle is. Actually, can you help me out? It goes like this–“

***

"Hey, mom, call me back. Just found out the love of my life has been cheating on me for, like, the past year. Would love some motherly reassurances right now. Thanks. Call me."

***

"Hey, I know you're probably busy, but I– I got the job! Call me back soon, love you!"

***

"Hello, mi madre! That’s Spanish for mother, if you didn’t know. call me back when you hear this. I'm thinking of proposing to Jessica tonight. I thought it'd be nice if you could, uh, let me know what you and Dad think? Not that it matters, it's my life, but it would still be nice to hear from you. So I guess it does matter, a little bit. Doesn't make me any less of a man. But still. Love you, talk to you later."

***

"Hey, mom, I'm driving down to Florida, so don't be scared or freaked out if you pop in and I'm not at the house. Not that you've ever done so, but, you know you're free to do that, right? Just–just not today or tomorrow. Love you. Bye."

***

"God, why don't you ever pick up? I have fantastic news. R–remember Erin? We're back together! We're in love! I really think she's the one, I... Well, after I break up with Jessica, we'll be together; Erin's kind of adamant about that. What a stickler. I'll talk to you later, love you, bye."

***

"Mom, I'm going on a trip with Walter for a few days, a week tops. Don't freak out if I don't answer if you call."

***

"Hey, mom, thanks for not picking up. Love paying those international fees, you know. Just wanted to let you know that Walt and I are heading back to the States soon if you cared. Hope you're okay. Bye."

***

"Hey, mom. I'm just calling to check up on you. I’m sorry about what I still last time… things have been fun, but it’s been… Anyway, is everything in the new apartment okay? I wish I could’ve helped you move in, but hey, that’s what paid laborers are for. I was thinking of driving up to Connecticut for the weekend, spend time together, the works. Let me know what you think. Love you.”

***

"Hey, I've been calling you for, like, ten minutes now. Can you– ugh, can you call me back when you hear this–“

***

“Mom, I think I really fucked up this time. Can you call me back? Please? I kind of need my mom right now.”

***

"Hi mom, uh. So I'm moving out of the house. Actually, I’m kind of moving out of Scranton. I got this really nice offer up in Cornell. Call me. Bye.”

***

The last two years had sucked, to say the least, for one Andrew Baines Bernard. 

First, he lost his family. Well, not his family, but what was holding it together in the first place. His father’s rather abrupt exit from his life had brought a momentary sense of accomplishment, but once the family assets had been sold, his brother scampered off to the West to party with his rich friends, his mother grew bored of him, and his father, well, he was on a different continent. He hadn’t heard of his sister from even before then, and he wouldn’t expect her to come back to the family that had ousted her in the first place.

He quit his regular job on a whim and subsequently lost all the friendships that came with it. He auditioned for what he thought would be his dream job, his destiny, only for it to come crashing down on him almost immediately. At least he got something out of the viral video, a sweet job at his alma mater. And now, now he was sitting at his dream desk of his dream job in his dream college’s college town, yet—something was missing.

He remembered how he had told David Wallace to fuck off, severed ties with people in the office, broken Erin’s heart. (Man, he’d really messed up with Erin.) How he’d slowly become an amplified version of all his worst traits after the wilderness retreat, and especially after the boat trip. God, he had been an idiot, and worse, he had only been able to see that once he had been humiliated twice on national television on the same day.

It wasn’t until much, much later that he began to grasp what he had done. He didn’t like to think about it too often. So he didn’t. He got good at that after a while. 

So, for the next couple of years, he tries making a new life. He moves to Ithaca, and he finds making new friends difficult at first, being unable to go beyond pleasant acquaintanceship. Whenever he asks his coworkers if anyone wants to go out for drinks, he rarely gets a “yes” to his offer. It wasn’t like Dunder Mifflin, where joking around and goofing off was fair game, no, Cornell Admissions meant business. And he really couldn’t afford to not mean business, not after his father had gone up and shirked off the family fortune. Maybe his coworkers had the right idea. 

He even tried to build up theatre cred again in the New York town, auditioning for shows left and right. He didn’t get any callbacks often, but the folks at the Bastion liked him well enough. They were the closest to friends he had at the moment. It was like hanging with his parents, except they totally wanted to hang around him for once.

And least the lays in Ithaca aren't hard to find. He hadn’t been into the whole one-night stand thing when he was younger, before he went from college-age catch to mid-thirties weirdo, but he wasn’t bad to look at. His various partners throughout the past years seemed to agree, too. They never called back, which was for the best. He hated being rejected.

He settles into a routine. And with that, he settles into his old ways, snapping at people and ass-kissing like his life depended on it. Maybe not as bad as when he first moved to Scranton, and he didn’t plan on punching anything or anyone anytime soon. But bad enough. He figures that if anyone from Scranton saw him now, they’d turn the other way just to avoid him. Especially Erin. 

He kind of deserves it, he thinks.

***

Andy wakes up that morning with a stiff neck. He finds that out when he tries to turn off the ringing of the phone alarm, hissing in pain. He lies back down for a moment, cringing. 5:30 am was when he usually got up to work out downstairs in his condominium's basement, jogging for half an hour or so on the treadmill, doing some yoga afterward before showering, having breakfast, and heading out to work. Which he does while thinking how repetitive his life had become in the past few months. After the whole viral video thing (his face sets into a frown at the smallest reminder of it), his luck had turned for the better after being asked to speak at his alma mater’s commencement week. He knew it was meant to be a stinging joke, but being back at Cornell helped. 

Cornell was where he had the best years of his life, he tells himself. He was unstoppable: he sang, he partied hard and graduated on time. He had friends, back then. 

He had friends at the office, too.

He falters before grabbing his coat by his door. Does he really want to go down this path of thinking again? He looks at the time on his watch, and decides, yeah, no. 

The drive over to Cornell isn’t far from his condo, but Andy is careful on the way over. It had frozen the night before, and he wasn’t about to risk crashing because of some black ice. Well, it was more like he couldn’t afford to. He switches the radio station from local news to an oldies station. Nothing he really cares for comes on, but that’s okay, he thinks. Days like these always get better. 

He pulls into one of the parking garages, walks to the admissions office, sits down, does work, tries to crack a joke and only gets moderate chuckles, makes some calls, goes to a meeting, and then it’s nearly lunchtime. He stretches in his chair, hands together towards the ceiling. His back has been starting ache more frequently, and he thinks he should be doing more yoga. One of his coworkers, Wray, asks him if he’s taking lunch in the office. 

“No,” Andy responds without much thought. “Nah, it’s pretty nice outside. Maybe I’ll go grab a coffee or something in town.” Almost automatically, he gets up and grabs his coat from the back of his chair. “See you in a bit.” He steps out the door and thinks that he will grab a coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic, and I'd love any constructive criticism!


	3. september 2015: part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So… you actually don’t know how to help me.”
> 
> “I mean if you want to look at it that way, you can.”
> 
> “You’re, like, the worst person I’ve ever met.”

The coffee shop Andy brings you to is familiar.

“Wh—is this the same coffee shop we were just at?” 

“No,” he says as the door behind the both of you shuts automatically, leaving the bitter cold outside in exchange for the exact same warmth from before. Except it’s not, apparently. “It’s the same chain, but no, not the same one. The other shop is on the other block we just came from.”

“Oh. Okay. Great way to make me feel like I’m losing my mind more than I already do.” You take off your scarf, suddenly feeling suffocated. The same menu you had just looked at less than an hour ago sits on the wall behind the counter, with another exhausted college-aged person standing by the cash register. What a town, you think. 

Andy pulls out a cell phone from his pocket and puts it to his ear, giving you a wink when he catches you looking at him. You frown, and he decides to ignore it. 

“Hey, Wray. I’m not feeling that great and I think I’m gonna go home. Would–oh, okay. That’s great. Thanks. Okay. See you tomorrow.” His expression is more disappointed than mischievous now. Without prompting, Andy says, “That was Wray. Didn’t think he’d care too much about me leaving early, but at least put a little effort into seeming like it, don’t you think?” He scoffs and laughs at the same, showing a disconcerting amount of teeth. His ears are red at the tips. 

“Is that someone you work with?”

“Yeah. At Cornell. You know, where I work.” The look on his face goes from subdued to smug in less than a second. “I thought they’d be more annoyed that I left without warning, but they’re busy. It’s application season. You’d think they’d want all they can get, right?”

“Fun. Wait, you’re skipping work? You shouldn’t be doing that, not to talk to me!” You fly into a panic, not realizing that you’re already in front of the barista and it’s your turn to order. “Oh! I’m so sorry.” You ask for an herbal tea, knowing that you had just downed a caffeine a half-hour earlier. God, you hated being back here-but-not-here. 

“Eh, it’s fine,” he brushes the situation off before turning to the barista to order another coffee. After he does, he turns back to you. “People here don’t really like change. They want the routine, something dependable, right? So when your friend, Anna, dropped out, that threw the Bastion for the loop.” He looks at you, and you realize he’s waiting for an answer.

“Okay. Yes.” Where was he going with this? 

“People really like working with people that they like. The Bastion really liked Anna. And now, they need to like you. How are you going to get them to like you? You need to do give them what they want from the show.”

The barista behind the counter calls your names, and as you grab your tea it takes all of your willpower to not throw it at the buffoon in front of you. Andy grabs his coffee and sips on it. He waits again. 

“You’re telling me that I need them to like me. I got the job already. Why should I be a, a kissass to these people?” You take a drag of your tea before your voice starts cracking from frustration. It burns your tongue. 

“Just... try to get people to like you, and that’s how they’re gonna do what you want them to do. I know you,” he gives you a pointed look, “probably didn’t want to direct a show at a tiny theater in a tiny city in rural-ish New York. You need these people to like you–”

You hold up a finger as you down about half of your tea. Now your throat is burned, too, but that doesn’t matter to you at the moment. What matters is this: 

“You’re just explaining to me how, in general, all theater works. Getting people to like you, yeah?” 

Andy looks taken aback, and maybe a little sheepish if you could look past your own annoyance of him. “Maybe.”

“So… you actually don’t know how to help me.”

He scoffs under his breath, offended. “I mean if you want to look at it that way, you can.”

You have truly had it with this guy. “You’re, like, the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“Look, I get that it’s not much of a plan, but it’s a start.” He’s serious, and you let him keep talking. “I remember moving back here a couple of years ago, and it was hard to get back into having a decent social life. I promise you, no, _guarantee_ that this will save you from social suicide.” 

You stare at him blankly. “What is this, high school?”

“Well, you’re kind of rude, aren’t you?”

“Rude? _Rude_? If I’m rude, then what the hell are y–” You stop yourself before you say something you’ll really regret. “Okay. I’m sorry about that. Really. I’m a little overwhelmed.” You can just feel that you’re on the verge of just launching your drink at his face. Again. You can’t do that. 

“Look, Andy. You seem like a fine guy, and I understand that you’re trying to help me out in your own, uh, unique way.” You breathe in, collecting yourself. You really don’t want to blow up at someone on your third day in Ithaca. “But I think I can handle this on my own from now on.”

“You just said you’re overwhelmed! I promise I can help you, let me just—“ he buries his face his hands, rubbing. He looks up, cheeks red with frustration. His coiffed hair is a bit out-of-sorts now. “Let me just ask you one question. Please.” 

You relent, taking in how vulnerable he looks in the moment. “Okay. One.”

“Have you taught before? As in, being a professor?” 

“That’s two,” you say, but the determined look in his eye doesn’t waver. You sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I have.”

“I could get you a job at Cornell. I mean, probably, it’s a strong maybe, but I could try. I definitely could. I have some ties.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You blurt the question out, partly frustrated, but mostly curious after all this beating around the bush. “You don’t have to do that. Really. I’m fine on my own, and I think you know that by now. Why do you want to help me out so bad?” 

Andy blanches. “Um,” he says, obviously trying to come up with something on the spot. “I was planning on doing this all along! I was just testing your guts.” 

You didn’t really want to know how bad of an actor he was after that lie. “Calling your bluff, right now.” Andy really was a bit of a weirdo, but against all odds, he was starting to get on your good side. He really didn’t seem like he was trying to be a jackass. He was trying to help you, even if it took him a solid hour to get to his point. 

“Yeah, you got me there.” He grinned. Maybe you weren’t going to be such a bad director, after all. “I promise I’m not this bad on stage.” 

You laughed. "Okay, I believe you."

Maybe this whole trip wouldn't be so much of a dud, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we are BACK baby
> 
> life's been weird. thank you to all the kind people who decided maybe this fic does have a future who have left comments and kudos (':
> 
> hopefully after this chapter i can keep the ball rollin'! the middle chapters have been written so it should it just be one more chapter i need to write before getting to those and having a more consistent update schedule
> 
> please... if you have any nice things to say of constructive criticism please let me know!!
> 
> catch ya laterrrr

**Author's Note:**

> Work title comes from "My Old Ways" by Dr. Dog. Chapter title from "Nite Flights" by The Walker Brothers. 
> 
> The story is pretty much planned out and I have some of the most significant parts already written out. I'm unsure of how often I'll update, but I'll try as best as my broke college student schedule allows me to. God knows Andy needs some character deconstruction, after all.
> 
> Minor grammatical changes made to chapter one on 1/15.


End file.
